by Glen Krisch
He tried the nearest doorknob, but it was locked. The museum should be empty, especially with Sophie gone for the night, so any kind of disturbance might mean trouble. He tried another door and found it unlocked. When he opened the door, he found Maury Bennett seated at a battered desk scavenged from the leftover library furniture. He had reams of paper spread before him, a cup of coffee in his hand.
"Hello, Mr. Gage."
"What are you doing here?"
Maury gave him a wry smile. "Working."
"I thought the museum was empty."
"I just brought in a dream." Maury pointed to the wall of glass in front of him.
Behind the glass lurked a woman, or what Gage thought was a woman.
"This is Juliet. She'll be displayed in our Nightmare wing," Maury said, letting Gage step into the room completely to get a better view. "She seems nice enough most of the time, but when she gets in certain moods, it just wouldn't be right for kids to be around."
Within the enclosure, a young woman was sitting on a green park bench, her summer dress hanging limply on her shoulders. Succulent red berries dotted the green backdrop of bushes. Gage didn't recognize the park's setting; Maury could have plucked her from any park anywhere, real or imagined.
"Juliet originated in the mind of a suicidal dreamer named Barbara," Maury said.
"So, why are you still here? She seems secure in her enclosure."
"After Barbara failed with her fourth attempt to kill herself, her injuries left her in a catatonic state. From what I've heard, she really enjoyed jumping from buildings. Her family contacted me through a referral from her family physician. They feared her dreams had subverted the rest of her mind. I went to their house, transmuted the young woman's demon, and now we have the privilege of displaying Juliet. I left her parent's home only a few hours ago, and they've already called my cell to tell me their daughter has pulled out of it, at least somewhat. She has the mind of a five-year-old, and considering she's a jumper, she's lucky to have that much. At least she's conscious."
"What are they going to do now?"
"To tell you the truth, I don't care. They were going to wait until morning to take her to see their family physician. I can guarantee he'll find her as normal as Barbara can be."
"You didn't explain why you're still here."
"Right, sorry about that. I'm observing. Since Barbara is acutely bipolar, and Juliet is a mirror image of her, Juliet's moods also swing wildly. Right now, she appears to be more manic than depressed."
They quietly observed this dream person that simple logic would exclude from the possibility of existence. Natural light--actual sunlight and not the bleached-out variety emanating from fluorescents--shined through a thin veil of clouds that floated along the enclosure's ceiling. The tiny room seemed without boundary. A steady downpour of tepid rain drenched the girl, pressing the flowered fabric of her dress against her skin, accentuated her small breasts. She was quite stunning, and Gage had to remind himself that she was only a dream.
"I'm thinking of breeding her."
"You're thinking of what?"
"She seems to be a perfectly lithesome and fertile sort of dream. Suppose I introduce a perfectly masculine and fertile sort of male dream to her enclosure. Suppose they mate."
Gage's eyes widened at what he was hearing. "I will not stand for that."
"Think of the raw data produced from such an experiment. Think of the possibilities."
"I didn't hire you to perform perverse acts of dream husbandry. Do I need to remind you that your sole focus should be your work with my daughter?"
"It wouldn't take any time away from Nicole. I see progress with your daughter, and I think it's just a matter of time."
"My answer is no." Gage's voice boomed through the little room, making it seem even smaller. He didn't normally raise his voice, but Maury's suggestion threw him off kilter. Maury didn't say a word and appeared hurt by the exchange.
Juliet turned, as if noticing her onlookers for the first time. Gage caught a glimpse of a revolver in her hand.
"She has a gun," Gage said, backing away from the enclosure.
"Don't worry, it's a dream-gun--her own creation and harmless to us. But this never ends pleasantly."
Juliet smiled at her onlookers before putting the gun barrel between her lips.
"No!" Gage went to the enclosure and slammed his hands against the glass. It didn't matter. Juliet held her smile as she squeezed the trigger. A red cloud burst from the back of her head. The smoke from the gun scattered quickly in the rain. Juliet, drowsily struggling to steady herself on the bench, dropped the gun into the deepening puddle at her feet.
"She's remarkably consistent. She kills herself every twenty minutes or so," Maury said.
"I wasn't expecting that," Gage said meekly.
"I know. That's part of the attraction of this place."
Pink-tainted water funneled from her mouth and painted the front of her white dress. She waved emphatically to Maury and Gage, somehow able to smile after her ordeal. She seemed happy to the point of tears just seeing them.
Maury waved back warily. When Gage looked at him, he was comforted in the fact that he also looked uncomfortable. If Maury had appeared unmoved by Juliet's actions, then he would start to doubt if he was doing the right thing.
The blood-tainted water in Juliet's enclosure began to clear, and the exit wound at the back of her skull began to heal. The rain eased to a drizzle and the sun dipped behind darkening clouds. Juliet's mood had drained. The muscles of her face seemed to sag as she dipped toward the darker depths of her personality.
"It doesn't get any easier to watch," Maury said weakly.
"I need to get out of here." Gage opened the door. He didn't wait for a response from Maury before he exited the room.
Maury jumped from his chair and caught the door before it could swing closed. "That's fine. I can show you what I've been working on with Nicole. I can't wait to show you the dreams I've transmuted from her."
As the door closed behind them, Juliet pressed herself against the enclosure glass. She was fascinated by her visitors, especially the man with the sad blue eyes and pink scars on his face and hands. There was something there, she realized, something she wanted to know more about.
Juliet didn't notice the prolonged interval of her relative peace. The twenty minute interval of her repeating life cycle lengthened to thirty. She didn't yet feel the tingling sensation through her fingertips that represented the beginning of the end of her life. No gun had appeared in her hand as thirty minutes stretched to forty, her mind occupied by thoughts of the man with the sad blue eyes. The outside world and all its variable stimuli had presented her with the opportunity to expand her mind beyond that of her dreamer. Her mind was growing. Evolving.
The thin veil of clouds hovering above her head had turned a grimy black. When the fluorescent lights lining the ceiling winked out, jagged lightning replaced their brightness. The enclosure vibrated under the gentle roll of thunder.
Chapter 5
Carin woke groggy and unsure of her surroundings. She saw a shelf overflowing with Girl Scout ribbons and cheerleading trophies. She tossed aside the covers and stood reluctantly. For the briefest moment, she expected to see a teenager staring at her in the mirror hanging near her dresser, but she dismissed the notion when she saw the creases forming at the corners of her eyes and her ratty morning hair.
She heard pleasant sounds coming from the kitchen. Kevin's laughter--a noise she hadn't heard in so long--along with her mother instructing Kevin to break the eggs with a short and sharp blow against the side of the mixing bowl. That's when she remembered that the items sitting on the shelf collecting dust were fading tokens from her childhood. She was in her mother's home, once a place providing comfort with seeming permanence, but now only a rest stop before the next stage of her life could begin.
Carin ducked into the bathroom and grabbed her robe from the hook on the back of the door before headin
g down the hall to the kitchen.
"Rise and shine!" Kevin said, his laughter becoming a giggle. He was standing on a step stool, towering over his grandma. Flour and cinnamon dusted the front of his pajamas, and he wore a paper chef's hat that was too big for his head.
Her mother turned to Carin, "Sleep well, dear?
"Good enough, I suppose," Carin said through a back-arching yawn.
"We didn't want to wake you, but Kevin practically begged to make you breakfast in bed. We were having too much fun and I guess we ran late with the finished product. You'll just have to eat at the table like any normal person."
Carin looked at the surprisingly well-organized table. Hot tea steeped in a mug at her place at the table. A plate steamed with bacon, none of it burned like her own bacon would turn out. A glass vase holding freshly cut roses from her mother's garden acted as the centerpiece. All that was left to complete the meal was the French toast that Kevin looked well on his way to finishing. He was dipping homemade wheat bread in the batter. Everything looked like it was running smoothly, so she sat down at the table and watched Kevin acting like a kid for the first time in a good while. Carin sipped her tea and noticed a cinnamon stick resting on the saucer's rim. She twirled the cinnamon in her tea and let out a long sigh.
She was starting to feel like this was becoming her home again. The only thing preventing Carin from completely giving in to the notion was Kevin's nightmare. Even now as he danced around the kitchen, playing the part of the little chef, his eyes were drawn and fatigued. His skin was too pale, and she was afraid he was losing weight. Boys his age didn't lose weight, they packed it on like it was going out of style.
She had planned to wait until Kevin went back to school to find a new job, but from judging his mood this morning, maybe he was okay enough for her to start looking. The chance to get out of the house would do her some good. Daytime television made her want to throw the T.V. through a window.
No harm would come to Kevin if he was with her mom, but she didn't want to impose on her any more than she already had. Her mom would never admit to any imposition, and it was sometimes hard for Carin to read her. Carin didn't want to disrupt her mom's peaceful retirement with all this mess, but she didn't know what else to do. Her mom had already made up the two beds for their arrival before what happened at the bus station. They were going to stay with her for a short while anyway, until things with James improved.
Her mom touched the back of her chair, and then sat down next to her. She had been blind since Carin was Kevin's age, but she got around with few difficulties. An extremely rare form of macular degeneration robbed most of her sight by the time her mother was seventeen. Her fear of doctors had prevented her from seeing an optometrist right away, not that it mattered with the aggressive variant of her disorder. It was incurable. By the time her parents took her to the doctor, an empty black void covered most of her central vision.
"You know, the older he gets, the more he reminds me of you." She danced her hand along the table until she could place it on top of Carin's. Her hand felt warm and smooth. "He's going to be tall and leggy. He should run the hurdles on the track team when he's old enough."
Carin looked at Kevin as he tidied up the chaos of dirty dishes. He still seemed in a good mood, but his smile had become muted and the circles under his eyes had darkened. She was glad her mom couldn't see him like that, but in her own way, Carin figured, her mom sensed his emotions without being able to see him.
"Like James," Carin said quietly. His name felt foreign on her tongue, as if she were reading it out of a magazine.
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I didn't remember that about James."
"It's okay. Really. Just shows Kevin has some of his father's qualities. There's nothing wrong with that." She felt helpless. Carin never believed their marriage was truly over, even during the ride to the bus station and facing their impending separation. Their marriage was unquestionably on the rocks, but not irreconcilable. Their relationship hadn't been close to ideal since the year Kevin was born, but it had been her marriage, and had been hers to deal with.
Her mother leaned over the table and spoke in a quiet yet strong tone, "You need to put up a better front than that. Wipe that expression off your face, or Kevin won't see any point in trying to recover from this." She squeezed Carin's hand for emphasis.
Her mom was right. She could feel an added gravity pulling at her skin. She perked her eyebrows and felt the tension that had built up around her eyes.
Kevin came over to the table, carrying a platter stacked high with perfectly golden slabs of French toast. Carin gave him the biggest smile she could muster, and squeezed her mom's hand back in thanks.
Their small family enjoyed a well-cooked breakfast, and when Carin mentioned to Kevin about going down the block to play at the baseball field, he didn't shrug off the idea.
Lunch was over and Kevin had already helped his grandma with the dishes. He walked from his bedroom, his baseball glove on his left hand, his right hand smacking thick leather sounds into the glove's pocket. His grandma was tending to her lilies in the backyard, and his mom was in her room, the droning sound of a NPR show murmuring through the closed door. Kevin was so bored he could scream.
He opened the screen door and went out to the front porch. The sun was hot, and the slight breeze smelled dry and florid. The wide wooden porch was peeling and the sloughing white paint made it look like a dormant and decaying creature resting at his grandma's doorstep. He kicked at the paint, sending flying chips into the air.
His grandma's neighborhood felt more like back home than he thought it would. There were blocks of brick homes, complete with small yards and driveways. He always thought of the city as having tall buildings where everyone lived in apartments. But it wasn't anything like that. At least around here. He could hear kids playing ball at the park down the block. He kept his eyes fixed on the paint as he kicked it away, exposing the bone-colored wood beneath.
"You should go to the park," his mom said from behind him.
He looked up to see her smile softened by the door's dark screen.
"I'm kinda tired." Which was true. Kevin hadn't slept well last night or any other night for quite a while.
She opened the door and joined him on the porch. She looked down the block to where she could see the tall chain link ribcage of the baseball backstop. A short kid charged around the bases while the other kids yelled with excitement. The blur kicked up a cloud of dirt as he slid into home plate safely, just under a tag.
"When I was a kid, those ball fields were all woods. You can still see some of the trees past the soccer field way in back. I used to have a tree house in the woods, but the park looks just fun."
"I guess."
"You guess? You know, if you're not going to go down there and play, then I just might go myself. Think they'd let me play?"
"Mom, come on."
"Okay, fine." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill. "Here, you go down to the park, play ball, meet the neighbor kids. When you get thirsty, get a Coke down at the ice cream shop on the corner." She stuffed the money into his pocket and put her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a little push.
Kevin took a couple tentative steps down the porch steps. "But… Mom."
"No buts. You go. I don't want you home until dinnertime. I'll be right here on the porch swing reading a book. I won't be too far. Have fun."
Kevin looked over his shoulder and was about to protest further, but it wouldn't get him anywhere. His mom was stubborn. His dad had always told him he was just like her. Well, this time he would let her win. No sense beating his head against a wall. Besides, he wanted to play. He just didn't want to talk to anyone, let alone meet anyone.
He kicked rocks off the sidewalk as he walked, forgetting his mom and her stubbornness and now wondering how he would break the ice with these new kids. He felt in his pocket for the money she had given him and was considering going straight to the ice cream shop inste
ad of the park. She didn't say he couldn't go there right away. He really was kind of thirsty. He could get an ice cream float and figure out a way to meet the other kids. But she could still see him; he could feel her gaze from where she sat on the porch swing. She was liable to yank him out of the ice cream shop and cause a big scene if he didn't go straight to the baseball field.
Kevin didn't hear the crack of the bat, but the movement of the foul ball caught his attention. When he looked up, the ball was skipping in the gutter next to him. Suddenly, a dozen pairs of eyes were staring at him. He came close to crossing to the other side of the street with the ice cream shop, maybe act like he didn't see the ball rolling towards him.
"A little help!" the big kid who hit the foul ball said, holding a taped-up wooden bat in one hand.
A bow-legged kid wearing a catcher's mitt came through the gap in the chain link and was on Kevin's side of the fence. He had his mitt up in the air. "Little help?"
Kevin scooped up the ball with his glove, crow hopped like his dad taught him and rifled a throw back to the catcher. It was a dead-solid throw, making a thwacking noise in the thick leather of the catcher's mitt.
"Thanks," the catcher said then wobbled back through the gap in the fence. He chucked the ball back to the pitcher, and the game returned to normal. No one was staring at Kevin. He walked the rest of the way to the aluminum bleachers behind the dugout, the ice cream shop pushed to the back of his mind. He took a deep breath, rubbed spit into his glove until it gleamed, waited.
When a kid even smaller than Kevin struck out for the third out about five minutes later, the big kid who hit the foul ball jogged over to the bleachers where Kevin sat.
